


The Virgin

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Clubbing, Explicit Sexual Content, John's Offer, M/M, Mycroft's Big Mouth, One Hundred Pencils, Sherlock Is Sweetly Ignorant, Sherlock's Virginity, sex and love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's lack of expertise in sexual matters makes him unprepared for a case. He needs John's help, but will that create more problems than it solves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Truth Is Out

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_How would you know?_ The words were still floating around in John's head as he glanced over at Sherlock as they made their way back to the flat. Of course, there were more important things to be thinking about, but he couldn't help himself. He wondered if it was actually true or if Mycroft just wanted to embarrass him because he'd shown up in a sheet. Then again Sherlock had told him when they first met that he was married to his work -- had that always been the case?

And speaking of cases, he was certainly curious to see how this one was going to play out -- Sherlock's trying to get close to a dominatrix. If Mycroft's comment was true, then this was a bit of an extreme introduction to sex. He wondered if Sherlock had any thoughts on the dominatrix part, but he didn't ask. He seemed to be lost in his mind over on his side of the cab, and John didn't want to ruin his train of thought. When they pulled up to the flat, he paid the fare and led the way upstairs. 

"I'll make some tea," he said and moved into the kitchen.

Sherlock got online as soon as they got home. He worked as John made the tea, as John brought him the tea and as he himself drank the tea. He took furious notes. When he was finished, he stood up. "I'm off to bed for a nap. I'll need to go out late tonight. You can come with me if you want." 

"Out where? Did you find something for the case?" John asked, watching him leaving suddenly.

"Out to a club. I need to find someone to have sex with," Sherlock said, disappearing into his room and shutting the door.

John blinked after him, sure that he'd heard that wrong. Immediately John's mind went back to Mycroft's words. He got up and followed Sherlock, knocking on his door. "Sherlock?"

"I'm napping, John," Sherlock said grumpily. "What do you want?"

"Can I come in, please?"

Sherlock humphed. "Yes, go ahead," he said. He rolled over on to his side away from the door.

John came into the room and moved close to the bed, sitting on the edge. He figured a direct approach would be best. "Sherlock . . . is this because of what your brother said?" 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sherlock said. "It's because of the case, obviously. That's her world -- sex. You know it's helps me to go into the world of the case."

"I know but . . ." John trailed off and wondered how to word this exactly. Was he having sex so that he can get in the right mind frame or was it going to be the first time? "Was . . . was he right? You don't have to do it just because he said. I mean, your first time should be. . ." He trailed off again. This was incredibly awkward.

Sherlock didn't turn over. "John, stop talking. Since when does Mycroft's opinion matter so much to you? I'm sure he's free tonight if you'd like to go spend some time with him. Otherwise, please shut the door on your way out. I'm going out around nine. Come with me or don't. I couldn't care less." He pulled the blanket up over him in an overly dramatic gesture.

"I don't -- they don't matter to me! I just . . . your first time shouldn't be squandered on some one night stand just because he said that," John insisted. 

"John, shut up," Sherlock said. "Just leave me alone. Please."

John opened his mouth again, but he didn't know what to say. How could he tell Sherlock this wasn't something to take lightly? He was a grown man who could do as he pleased. "Right. Um . . . just think about it, okay?" He got up and went back to the sitting room, now unable to concentrate on his reading. 

Sherlock stayed in his room, not thinking about what John's words, but thinking instead of the case. He didn't like Mycroft's involvement and he hadn't liked being taken to the Palace, but he was very glad to have something to work on. Eventually he got up and took a set of clean clothes into the bathroom for a shower. He came out and said to John, "If you're tagging along, let's go. If you're staying here, don't wait up." He moved to the door to put on his coat.

"Wait! Let me change and I'll be right down," John said. He hurried up to his room and changed his clothes -- he didn't have much suited for a club -- but he came down a few minutes later and hoped for the best. "Okay."

In the cab Sherlock said, "I'll admit that, unlike you, it's been a while since I've gone out like this. If you have any pointers, feel free to share. Just don't be obnoxious about it," he said, staring out the window.

"I haven't done this in ages. Just . . . be careful." He knew that was awful advice but why wasn't Sherlock thinking more about this? He gave ash more thought than this.

"I don't think they allow weapons in this club, John, so I'm sure I'll be fine," Sherlock said. When they arrived, he led them inside. It was loud and crowded. Sherlock hated it immediately. He walked up to the bar and got a drink for himself and John. Then he turned to survey the place. "Keep your eyes out for someone who seems willing but not . . . well, I mean, someone you think I might not hate," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

John nodded at Sherlock's request but knew that he wasn't going to pick anyone out for him. He tried to tell himself it was because he was worried about Sherlock's well being, but he also couldn't ignore the small pang of jealousy he was feeling. He sipped at his drink and looked around. It was so crowded and loud. He doubted Sherlock was going to be able to stand this for very long. 

Sherlock turned his head towards the end of the bar. "What about that one down there?"

John looked over at the man he was pointing to and raised his brows. "He looks all right I suppose," he said. He watched the man for a bit longer, trying to study him like Sherlock always did so he could point out something awful and make him change his mind. "Um . . .yeah, I suppose," he repeated, finding nothing to use.  

"I meant the woman behind him, but you think the man's a possibility then?" Sherlock said, looking him over.

John looked again and saw her now, flushing lightly. "I thought you said women weren't your area," he said, taking a bigger swallow of his drink.  

"None of this is my area, John, obviously," Sherlock said. "It really doesn't matter to me. I just need . . . a body. I'm not particularly bothered by its shape." He walked over to the man at the end of the bar and spoke to him for a moment. He returned to John. "No," he said and went back to scanning the room. 

"What happened? Why not?" John asked, glancing at the man again. 

"He's an idiot," Sherlock said. "He wanted to know what I thought of David Cameron. I don't even know that guy." He moved off and spoke to a blonde woman but returned again, frowning. "Who is this David Cameron and why does everyone want to talk about him?"

"Sherlock, he's the Prime Minister," John said, raising his brows at him. What an odd thing to talk about for a one night stand. Unless that's not what they were looking for. Good. He looked around again and then looked back at Sherlock. "Look, if you really want this to work you have to pick out someone who's not looking for more -- someone also looking for a one night stand."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He walked over to another woman who was standing by herself. He leaned and whispered in her ear, "Are you looking for a one night stand?" 

Her head pulled back sharply. "The good looking ones are always pricks," she said and got up to move away from him.

Sherlock moved back to John. "Unsurprisingly, your advice was utterly useless." He sighed. "I don't understand it . . . you're always going out and your dates last hours . . . I only need someone for . . . a shorter amount of time."

"Surprisingly that is harder if you don't find someone who wants the same thing. Generally people don't like having sex and then running off," he said. 

"Ridiculous," Sherlock muttered. He got another drink and then moved around the club a few more times, staring at people awkwardly and then chatting to them more awkwardly. After a little while, he returned to the bar, ordered a shot and downed it and then turned to John and said, "Let's go."

John finished his drink and didn't offer any kind of opposition as he followed Sherlock out of the club. "I'm sorry it didn't work out tonight, Sherlock, but if you really want to have sex we can try somewhere else . . ." He offered it reluctantly, waving down a cab. 

Sherlock got into the cab. "I don't get it, John," Sherlock said. He hated not understanding something, especially an issue John seemed to understand so well. "Why wasn't anyone interested? I mean, on telly, that kind of stuff happens all the time. I just needed it to happen once."

"I told you it's not easy if the other person doesn't want something quick as well. There's a lot of sentiment involved -- especially if it's your first time," John said. He looked over at him and continued. "Besides, you don't want your first time to be this -- you want someone who is going to take care of you."  

"Oh shut up," Sherlock said and turned to look out the window. "And that's how your first time was then? Don't bother saying it was -- I won't believe you. Don't romanticise so much, John. This is for a case -- it's _work_."

"Right," John said, looking out of his own window. He dropped it again, not knowing what else to say about it. He wanted Sherlock to stop this craziness but if he didn't, John was going to have to do something . . . he didn't want Sherlock to get hurt.

When they got back to the flat, instead of tea, Sherlock opened a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. He sat down in his chair. "John," Sherlock said, "look through your phone. There must be someone in there who'd be willing."

"I'm not sending you to one of my exes," John said. He poured himself a glass as well and sat down in his chair. "I don't have their numbers saved anyways."

"Why are you being so unhelpful, John? You seemed interested in this case earlier -- why are you working against me?" He picked up his phone. "I'll call Lestrade then." 

"Call him for what? Don't do that," John said, getting up to take his phone away. "I am not being purposely unhelpful. Are you sure you don't want to think about this?"

"Obviously I've already thought about it," Sherlock said. "Have you ever met me? You know how I work, John. Sex is . . . key to this case. How am I supposed to solve it if I . . . don't understand it? I need someone to show me."

John took a deep breath and let it out heavily. "If it's that serious for you, I'll be the one. I'll show you," he said, taking half his wine down at once.


	2. John's Offer

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock said, eyeing John suspiciously.

"I'll have sex with you. For the case," John said.

Sherlock looked at John closely. "You don't think I'll say yes, do you?" he said, taking another sip of wine.

"All of this is up to you, Sherlock. You can say whatever you want." John finished his wine. "Would you prefer a stranger?"

"I don't _prefer_ anything," Sherlock said. "Could you explain precisely what's on offer here?"

"You want to know what sex is all about. I'll show you," John said. "I'll have sex with you." He knew this was insane and could possibly change or ruin everything. But it was better than a stranger.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Thank you for being helpful." He stood up a little too quickly, having to lean slightly on his arm chair. "Here or what? Let's get going." He wasn't entirely sure John was actually going to go through with it, but he hoped he would so Sherlock would have the information he needed.

"No we'll. . . .we'll go to my room," John said. He stood up and took Sherlock's hand, pulling him along to the stairs.

Sherlock pulled his hand back from John's softly. "Don't romanticise," he said. "You're helping with a case and we need never mention this again. And it does _not_ go on the blog, all right?"

"Yes, I mean, of course not," John said. He went into his room and shut the door behind them. "How do you feel about kissing?" he asked, turning to face him.

"Whatever normally happens should happen," Sherlock said flatly. 

"Right," John said. He clenched his hands a couple times and then pulled Sherlock down a bit, pecking a kiss on his lips. And then another longer one, and then stayed there proper, moving his lips slowly against Sherlock's. They were soft and John found himself enjoying it, his nerves ebbing away slowly.

Sherlock kept his eyes open, watching John kiss him. "What am I supposed to be doing at this point?" he asked. He was whispering but wasn't sure why.

"Kiss me back -- just move with me," John said quietly, pressing his lips to Sherlock's again.

This time Sherlock pressed against John's mouth and lifted his hand to John's arm. "Again, we won't talk about this again," he said, "but you're going to have to help me here -- tell me -- so I know."

"We kiss because just taking our clothes off and doing it is awkward. You need to get . . . excited for it or we can't really do anything." John was even more glad he hadn't gone with a stranger now -- they were sure to find this approach odd and who knows how they would have handled it. "Why don't we lie down and keep kissing?" 

"All right," Sherlock said a little impatiently, as he slid down a bit on the bed. "I don't want to see smug written across your face, by the way." He lay there, waiting for John to kiss him again.

"Why would I be smug? I just want to help you," John said. He scooted closer and kissed him again, this time resting his hand on Sherlock's side and rubbing his back lightly.

"I think you enjoy being the expert," Sherlock said. He lifted a hand to John's hair and mussed it a bit. "I like your hair," he said, because he did -- he'd thought about John's hair before, about liking it, but he'd never considered mentioning it before. He kissed John again. 

As they kissed John slid his hand up Sherlock's shirt, touching his skin and pushing the shirt up out of his way. 

"Clothes off now?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

"Don't be in a rush," John said, sitting up and straddling Sherlock's hips. "Try and enjoy it." He pulled off Sherlock's shirt and started on his trousers. 

"Fine," Sherlock said softly. He lay back and closed his eyes. "John, I am actually getting an erection now, though it may just be because you're sitting on me. But that's a good sign, right?" He opened one eye and looked up at John. 

"Yes, that's a good sign," John smiled. He rolled his hips and felt it beneath him. Starting an experiment of his own, John bent forward and kissed behind Sherlock's ear, slowly making his way lower along his neck with nips and kisses.

Sherlock instinctively made a little moan but wished he hadn't so he said, "Should I do something . . . so you get one as well?"

John rolled his hips harder to show Sherlock he was coming along just fine. "Just relax . . . and enjoy it," he said between kisses. He sucked lightly, nipping again at the hollow of his neck.

"John," Sherlock said quietly. "I just thought of something -- what if I _don't_ enjoy it? Are you going to have your feelings hurt?" He realised his hips were pushing against John's. 

"No, I won't have my feelings hurt." John dipped down and licked at his nipple before sucking it softly. He was really starting to enjoy this -- how had he not noticed how beautiful Sherlock was?

"Mmm, that feels pleasant," Sherlock said. "Do you want to take your shirt off and I'll do it to you?"

"Okay," John nodded. He sat up on Sherlock's hips again and pulled his shirt off, shifting to lay beside him on the bed now. "Have you thought about which position you want to be?"

"Lying down is fine," Sherlock said. He leaned over and sucked on one of John's nipples. "Okay?" he asked, moving to the other one.

John smiled at how quickly he did it, nodding that it was good. Heat rushed from the spot but he tried to stay contained, not wanting to make things more difficult. "I meant do you want to top or bottom? Do you want me to go into you or you into me?"

"I have absolutely no idea . . ." Sherlock said into John's chest. "I suppose -- she'd be the recepient so I guess I should be . . ." He sucked again on John's nipple, this time pulling it softly between his teeth. "Do you care? Whatever you want. Are we going to do it now? I feel like . . . I mean, it's really hard now . . ."

"Fuck," John breathed. "We can . . . I don't mind." He tried to say that part more regularly, flipping them again and settling between his legs. John's eyes were roaming all over Sherlock's face and body as he tugged off his trousers and then his pants. After working his own clothes off he pulled the lube and a condom from the drawer of his bedside table. "Just relax, okay?" He felt silly saying he was going to take care of him so he kept it to himself.

John poured lube into his hand and started palming and stroking Sherlock's cock. He moved down to his thighs and then his arse. "Legs back, please." When Sherlock complied, John brushed his entrance, slowly pushing one finger into him.

"Hold on a minute," Sherlock said quietly. "Is it going to hurt, do you think?"

"It might a little bit," John said quietly. "But we're going to go slow, okay? And we can stop any time you want to." John was so glad Sherlock hadn't gone with a stranger -- he couldn't imagine someone just going at him. 

"That doesn't hurt," Sherlock said. "It feels kind of good actually." He pushed his body a little against John's finger. "Were you going to put your mouth on it, do you think? It seems like that would happen."

"That does happen -- do you want me to?" John asked, dipping to kiss his hips as he pumped his finger slowly.

"Please . . ." Sherlock said quietly. "But don't stop with the finger thing . . . maybe you could move it a little bit faster? Is it normal to want that? What about a condom -- we need a condom, don't we? Will there be kissing when you put it inside?" He swallowed hard. "Sorry . . ." he added, dropping his head back onto the pillow and covering his face with his arm.

"I grabbed a condom with the lube." He came up and sucked Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing up and down as he sped up his finger.

"Yes, that's very good, that feels good, John," Sherlock said. "I can see why one would like this . . ." He lifted his hips up a bit to match John's rhythm. 

As John hummed and hollowed his cheeks around Sherlock, he added a second finger, slowly stretching him open more.

Sherlock lifted his head but when he could see what was happening, he dropped his head back down and said, "Okay, don't do the . . . mouth thing anymore. I do know what orgasms are and I'm a little worried about having one before . . . you know, the main action begins." He reached his hand down the bed a bit. "Do you need me to do something . . . to you?"

John came off and shook his head. "No, just enjoy this," he smiled. His hand continued to work into him, his fingers spreading out to open him up. With his free hand he put the condom on and stroked lube onto himself. "How do you feel? Are you ready?"

"I'm ready. How do you feel -- what's going on in your head? Are you so filled with desire that I could get you to tell me anything I want to know?" Sherlock said. "Quick -- answer honestly, don't think about it."

"No," John chuckled softly. "I'm not going to lie, you look quite sexy and I am very aroused, but you're not getting any secrets out of me." He lined up and for a moment the reality of it all crashed down on him. He was having sex with Sherlock and Sherlock didn't even realise what that meant. But what did it mean to John? More than an experiment, for sure, but what else?

He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock's mouth again, deepening the kiss before pushing slowly into Sherlock's body.

"It hurts a little," Sherlock said quietly. "I'm not saying stop -- I'm just noting it." He lifted his hands to John's back. "Do you mind if I do this?" He slipped his hand down and started stroking himself. "I'm going to stop talking for a minute. Kiss me again and then move your body more."

John nodded, bracing himself a bit better before kissing Sherlock again. At the same time he seated himself into Sherlock, slowly pulling back out and started a slow pace. It was incredible -- tight and hot pressing around him as he moved. "Fuck Sherlock," John breathed before kissing him again.  

"I like it when you say my name," Sherlock mumbled, though he wasn't sure why. He could feel his body rock the bed in responses to John's movements. He shifted his legs slightly. It was such a strange concept really: John Watson -- his flatmate, colleague and friend -- had part of his body inside Sherlock's body. Strange. Yet at the same time, Sherlock couldn't deny that it felt good. It was different than just masturbating, which Sherlock had done before, it was better somehow, more. He kissed John back and tried to move his hips to John's rhythm.

John smiled and moved down to kiss and nip at his neck again. Between kisses he murmured Sherlock's name, whispering it and breathing against his skin. Every thrust into Sherlock pulled John closer and closer to the edge. Whatever happened after this night, he was glad he was the one to show this to Sherlock.

Sherlock's hand moved faster on himself. "I . . . like this," he grunted softly. He could feel tension filling his body. "I think I'm going to end now," he said and then his whole body froze as his cock jerked against John's stomach and spilled out over him. In his head, Sherlock wanted to call out John's name, squeeze him tighter, get him closer -- closer than he'd ever been to another person. He wanted to kiss John and maybe even tell him he loved him. But he didn't do any of those things. Instead he swallowed and tried to catch his breath.

John didn't have a chance to say anything when Sherlock was coming -- not that he wanted to stop him, of course. It was bliss: Sherlock squeezed around him and pulled John into his body, the movements pushing John over. He let out one strangled moan of Sherlock's name before biting his lip to keep quiet. Sherlock had been so quiet . . . John hoped he'd enjoyed it at least a little bit. When he was finished, he pulled out and tied off the condom. After tossing it in the bin, he lay down beside Sherlock. He resisted curling close to him or cuddling against him. He had a feeling Sherlock wouldn't like that. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes, I'm fine," Sherlock said. "Thank you for that. The information was useful." He took a few deep breaths. He leaned over and said, "It was good. Thank you." He stood up gingerly -- he was quite sore -- and gathered his clothes. He mumbled, "Thanks . . . see you in the morning" and rushed off to his bedroom.


	3. The Morning After

"I -- Sherlock," John started, but he was already gone. John lay back down and stared at the ceiling. He had just had sex with Sherlock. And it had been fantastic. But now, looking over at the empty side of the bed, the true reality of it hit him a bit hard. It was an experiment. The only reason it had happened at all was because Sherlock needed to know what sex felt like to get into the world of a case. He sighed and turned onto his side, pulling the covers up. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay. He could be okay with that. He helped Sherlock with experiments all the time. Besides, allowing himself to feel more about it was only going to leave him hurt. Sherlock didn't _feel_ , and John knew it was a dangerous road to go down. 

Sherlock slipped into the bathroom to clean himself up and brush his teeth. Then he went to his bed. The darkness was good. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what had just happened. Obviously, he and John had just had sex. He knew that. He knew why they'd done it: now he knew what sex was like and that information might be useful. He knew the practical stuff.

But what he didn't really know is what had happened in his head -- why he had romanticised, why he had felt so . . . why he had _felt_. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered.

John fell into a fitful sleep, waking up every hour it seemed and, each time, feeling the other side of the bed. It remained empty, and he wondered how Sherlock was doing in his own bed alone. Every time he wondered if Sherlock was okay or if maybe he should go check on him, another voice reminded him that Sherlock was fine -- probably more so that John was. He didn't romanticise or lose himself in sentimentality. John fell asleep again early in the morning, promising himself that he was going to let it go by morning.  

Sherlock thought that maybe it was the alcohol that was to blame. But eventually he realised that what had happened was probably precisely what John had predicted would happen: the sex meant something. But Sherlock wasn't going to let John know he was right. There had already been enough of John being smarter than Sherlock tonight -- that wasn't going to continue tomorrow as well. Fine. It was done. Whatever had happened had happened. It was over now. He went to sleep.

When Sherlock rolled over in the morning, he hadn't forgotten what happened -- his body was quite sore. He got up, slipped on his pajamas and dressing gown and went out to make some tea.

John slept late into the morning, finally staying asleep after that last time. When he got up he went straight to the bathroom and took a shower, putting pajamas on before coming into the sitting room. "Good morning," he said as he went into the kitchen to make tea. He popped in some toast and glanced out at Sherlock, wondering if he was okay. But he didn't know if he should ask. He hoped this awkwardness wouldn't last. 

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, pushing a freshly made cup of tea to John. He had his laptop open at the table and was already researching. "I might have a bath later if the feeling's not gone before I go out. You sleep okay?"

"Oh thanks -- and yeah, I think a warm bath will help," John said, sitting at the table with him. Okay, now that it was out of the way things can go back to normal. "Making any progress?"

"Mycroft sent this," he said, motioning towards his screen. John leaned down to look, his face so close to Sherlock's he could smell his shampoo. It smelled clean and nice. "Maybe you could look into this name . . . once you get started on your day, I mean."

"I can look now -- let me just get my computer," John said. Was Sherlock closer than usual? Probably not. He moved away and got his computer from under his chair, bringing it to the table with Sherlock. He double checked the spelling and started to look it up. 

They worked together for a while. It was normal. Sherlock was sure of it. He glanced up at John a few times, but couldn't help imagining John's mouth kissing his. And the other things John's mouth had done. He finished his own tea and got up to make another cup.

"Could you put some toast in for me? I'll get it when it pops," John said, scrolling though his findings and jotting down notes. 

Sherlock put some bread in. He moved to the fridge and got out the butter and jam. He prepared the toast and set it with a fresh cup of tea next to John. He sat down with his tea and got back to work.

"Oh! I could have -- well, thank you," John smiled, pulling the plate close and digging in. 

After a bit, Sherlock said, "I think I'll take that bath now." He moved to the bathroom to turn on the water and then went into his room to get some clothes.

"Okay. I'll have more info when you come out -- let me know if you need anything," John said. 

What did John mean by that? Sherlock wondered. Why would Sherlock possibly need John's help in the bath? He stepped out of his dressing gown and pajamas and lowered himself slowly into the water. He leaned back. He pictured John coming in and washing him. John would lean over the bath and move the wet washcloth slowly down Sherlock's chest and maybe between his legs. He sat up quickly -- why on earth would he have thought that. 

If Sherlock wasn't usually brooding, John might really be worried about him right now. As it was, he was only a little worried. He tried to focus on his notes, trying to judge them through Sherlock's eyes. He went back to the computer, looking for more. 

Sherlock soaped himself up, trying not to think about John, which wasn't easy -- he couldn't help thinking about the things that John had done to his body as he washed himself. He rinsed and then stood and dried himself. He got dressed and came back. "Find anything interesting?" he said.

John slid over his notes and felt a bit like a child giving his teacher homework for review. "That was everything I could find. Do you feel better?"

"I do, I feel normal," Sherlock said. He glanced down. "Yes, that's useful. Thanks, John." He sat down and looked over at John. "What's your plan for the afternoon?"

John grinned and finished off his tea. "I don't really have one. I think we need some groceries, I might run to the shop. What about you? Do you want to come with me?"

"No, not really," Sherlock said. "I might just keep working. Do you mind?"

"Nope. I'll take my time so you can work in peace." John washed his dishes and made a list before going up to change. "See you on a bit."

"Okay then," Sherlock said, already focused on the computer.

But a few minutes after he'd gone, Sherlock stood up and moved to the window, watching John walked down the street. He was so good, was John. Sherlock was lucky to have him. He had found this good information and now he was going to get food for them both. Sherlock moved and looked at his chair, but instead of sitting down, he walked up to John's room. He went in and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes and thought about last night.

What Mycroft had said was true -- Sherlock knew nothing about sex until last night and now he knew what it was like. Now he knew that he liked it. Or at least . . . liked having it with John. If John came home and caught him in his bed and wanted to do it again, Sherlock would gladly do it. He moved his hand to his lap and realised he was getting an erection. He just rested his hand there, remembering. And then he felt strange and a bit guilty so he got up and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

Things seemed to be getting back on track in their flat, John thought as he walked. He realised he might have underestimated Sherlock's ability to separate himself from something like that. He would never admit that, of course, but it was good that things hadn't been messed up between them.

He took his time in the market, thinking about what he could possibly make for dinner that night. He felt like texting Sherlock but knew he wouldn't care about it. He smiled softly and headed for the check out.

Sherlock moved back to the table and then picked his laptop up and moved to his desk. What was John taking so long? Had something happened? Sherlock scolded himself: what was wrong with him? He turned back to the computer and tried to focus on his work.

John walked home with his bags, hoping that Sherlock was almost done when he got there. But why would it matter if he was or not? What would they do differently? His mind wandered to what they had done last night and he shook his head, actually whispering 'no' to himself. That was done now. If he started that, things would be messed up for sure.

When he got home he went right to the kitchen, saying hello as he passed Sherlock, and started putting evening away.

Sherlock had smiled to himself when he heard John come in and he smiled out loud when John said hello. He thought about saying that he was glad he was home -- because he was -- but he knew that John had come home hundreds of time without Sherlock saying he was glad so he said nothing. But he got up and moved to the kitchen to help John. Quickly, though, he realised he wasn't actually being much help since he had no idea where to put things. So he sat down at the table and said, "What are we doing for dinner then?" because that _was_ something he would normally say to John.

"I bought some things at the store -- pasta, chicken, potatoes." John listed them and looked over at him. "Any of that sound good?"

"No, but you can make whatever you want and I'll try to eat something," Sherlock said. "Are you going out tonight?" he asked hesitantly.

John's brows furrowed lightly as he left out the chicken and potatoes. "You mean like a date or something? I don't have any plans tonight."

"Okay," Sherlock said. He was glad but again he tried to keep his face and voice normal. "We could just keep working maybe . . . if you don't mind. I found a few new avenues to investigate."

"Sure,"John nodded. "Let me get these potatoes in the oven and I'll be right there." John peeled the potatoes and fixed up the portions before grabbing his computer from the table and following Sherlock to the sitting room. He sat on the sofa, opening the laptop. "What are we looking for?"

"Here," Sherlock said, bringing his laptop over to the sofa. He sat down next to John and leaned over, showing him the new information. "There must be connections between these people but I've not found it yet. Will you work on these two and I'll look at the others?" He turned himself slightly to lean against the arm of the sofa. 

"Yeah, okay," John nodded. He got up for his notebook and then came right back, writing down their names and getting to work on researching them. He didn't know what exactly he was looking for, but he took notes anyways. 

Sherlock sneaked a few looks at John as he worked. John was so good to him, he really was. He thought about John's kissing him and he wanted it to happen again. He wanted John to take care of him in the way he had last night. That's what he wanted -- it was something he'd never wanted before in his life. He stretched one leg out a bit so it was closer to John.

John was murmuring under his breath as he found different pieces of information, jotting them down and occasionally showing them to Sherlock. This was nice, working together like this. What they had done was sitting in the back of his mind and with Sherlock moving on so easily, it helped John not torment himself about why it could never happen again -- as much as he wanted it to. 


	4. Sherlock Makes A Move

Sherlock waited for John to take a break and set his laptop on the table. When he did, Sherlock set his there as well. Then he wordlessly moved closer to John, tucking his legs under himself and pressing against John. He lifted his back hand to John's hair and fiddled with it as he pressed his head onto John's shoulder.

John started and tensed, waiting until Sherlock settled to say anything. "Um . . . Sherlock? What's wrong?" He didn't mind, exactly, but he didn't understand.

"Nothing," Sherlock said quietly, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible. "I thought I might just sit like this for a few minutes."

"I . . . okay," John said, looking down at him. Was this something else he was experimenting? Trying to see what happens after sex sometimes? John didn't ask -- he wanted to enjoy it as long as he could. He brought his arm to Sherlock's back and rubbed lightly.

John's touch on his back sent an electricity through Sherlock and he pulled back too sharply, jumping up off the sofa. "I need to go to my room," he said awkwardly. "To work," he added and he rushed into his bedroom, shutting the door.

He lay flat on the bed, his hand moving to his lap and resting on his erection. He wanted to make it go away, but at the same time, he wanted the release that he had last night. He didn't move -- just trying to concentrate on his breathing. But his hand slipped into his trousers and he held himself.

"Sherlock -- wait!" John said standing up as quickly as he could. By then Sherlock was gone in his room. Had it been the extra touch? He didn't mean to push, but with Sherlock in his lap he didn't think it would be too much. He walked to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, trying to make his voice sound fine. "I'm . . . fine. I'll be out for dinner." He didn't want John to hear anything so he rolled over and turned on his radio. He tried to listen for John's footsteps, but realised he couldn't hear anything because of the radio. But if he turned down the radio and turned it back up, that would be suspicious. So he lay still for a few minutes and when he felt like enough time had passed, he started slowly stroking himself, taking deep breaths to keep himself calm. He pictured John kissing him, like last night.

When John heard the radio come on his teenage years flooded back to him -- running the shower or blasting music -- and he could guess what was happening. He wondered if it had been the extra touch John offered or if Sherlock had been feeling it from before. Maybe it wasn't even about John at all. He went back to the sitting room, pulling up his blog and working on that while he waited for Sherlock to come back.

Sherlock moved his hand slowly. He just wanted to feel like last night. He thought about last night -- thought of everything single thing that happened. From the moment he got up from his nap until he returned to his room to sleep. He couldn't believe John had offered, and he hadn't even been sure John was serious. But John always helped when he could. John always took care of Sherlock. Why did Sherlock let him? Because it was John. John always made him feel so good.

John couldn't help glancing at Sherlock's room every few minutes. For a wild moment, he thought about going in there and offering to help, but Sherlock needed to figure this out on his own. He imagined Sherlock convincing himself he didn't even like sex and now realising how wrong he'd been. John was in for a long process if Sherlock was going to slip into a teenage state of constant arousal.

Sherlock stopped his hand for a moment and thought about what he'd just told himself. It was true: John _always_ made him feel good. Last night he did it in a different way, but John had started making him feel good almost from the moment they'd met. He rolled over on the bed and stared at the opposite wall. Did he _love_ John?

Eventually John got up and checked on dinner. He turned off the oven and put a bottle of wine in the fridge just in case. He didn't want to call Sherlock and interrupt him. Hopefully he'd come out soon.

Sherlock lay there for a few more minutes, just thinking about the answer to his question. He sat up and turned off the radio. He sorted his clothes and slipped into the bathroom where he washed his face. Then he went into the kitchen. "When's dinner then?" he said as nonchalantly as he could.

"It just got done," John said, glancing over at him. "I put a bottle of wine in the fridge if you'd like some with dinner."

"All right," Sherlock said. He smiled at John.

John smiled softly and got the food onto plates before getting glasses for the wine. "I know there's a lot of food -- whatever you eat is fine."

"Can we sit on the sofa again?" Sherlock asked. "I mean . . . just can we sit on the sofa as we eat?"

John nodded and almost made a joke about it being difficult to eat with Sherlock in his lap, but he didn't want to upset him. John was still wondering about that but not enough to make things weird again. He took his plate and glass to the sofa and sat where he did before. "Want to watch telly or something?" 

"Whatever you want is fine," Sherlock said. He sat down at the other end and looked over at John and smiled. "Thanks for dinner," he said.

"It's your turn tomorrow,'" John teased. He turned on the telly and flipped through until he found a talk show that seemed interesting.

After a little while, Sherlock got up and took his plate to the kitchen. He made two cups of tea and returned. "Here's one for you . . . for when you finish," he said awkwardly and sat back down on the sofa.

"Thanks," John smiled, pulling it a little closer. "How's the case going? Do you want to continue working?"

"Not tonight," Sherlock said. He looked down at his tea and then at telly and then said very quietly, "I love you."

When the words registered with John his plate fell from his hands, spilling everything onto the floor. For a second it startled him out of his trance and he looked down at it, but a second later he was looking up at Sherlock.  "I -- what?" he asked stupidly, knowing very well what he heard. Was it because of the sex? John's breathing shallowed a bit. "Sherlock . . .are you sure?"

Sherlock looked over at the mess. "Obviously or I wouldn't have said it," he said. "Pull yourself together now. Really, John. Don't be so dramatic." He smiled a little.

"Dramatic?" John asked weakly. He took a deep breath. "Is it because of the sex?

"It's because of the sex I realised it," Sherlock said. "I did like the sex, I was surprised, but I did. But I kind of love you anyway. Even if you don't want to do it again. Even though I do."

"I do want -- I mean --" John cut off and looked down at his hands. "That's why I didn't want it to be someone else. I . . .I love you, too."

"Because of the sex?"

"No. Before the sex. That's why I felt jealous." John looked up at Sherlock. "I didn't trick you with the sex -- I just . . .I wanted you to be taken care of."

"See that's why you're loveable. It's obnoxious really," Sherlock said, smiling, "but you've obviously worked your charms on me."

"But I thought . . . how long have you felt this way?"

"Well, obviously, I've only recently realised it but I suppose from the first day really," Sherlock said. He wasn't quite sure why he was being so casual about it -- the concept should, in and of itself, be worrying him since he had absolutely no idea how to properly love someone. Yet strangely, he didn't feel worried about that at the moment.

John opened his mouth and then closed it again. "I -- me too. I think I have been in love with you since that day in the lab," John smiled softly and met his gaze.

"Funny way of showing it . . . trying to shag all those women," Sherlock said.

"I didn't . . . there was only the two and I thought you didn't do this sort of thing. I didn't know exactly what I was feeling then."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Do we need to talk more about it?"

"Well, I suppose not but . . . it seems a bit anticlimactic to just . . . be done." John smiled wider and looked up at him again. "Can I kiss you?"

"No," Sherlock said, turning on the sofa. "Let me kiss you." He leaned over towards John and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Was that okay?"

John nodded, bringing his hand up to hold his cheek. "I'm glad I stopped you from going out," he said quietly.

"I did go out, you fool," Sherlock said. "I went out with you. If you had just offered initially, we could have avoided all those idiots." Sherlock slid across the sofa and snuggled in against John.

"You know what I meant," John said. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, kissing the top of his head.

Sherlock wiggled a little more so he was pretty much on John's lap. "I have to tell you a secret," Sherlock said. "Sometimes when you treat me like a baby, I kind of like it. Not all the time -- so don't get carried away -- but I sometimes like when you take care of me."

John smiled, resting his head on Sherlock's. "I'll always take care of you," he murmured.

"Except when it annoys me, though, don't do that, okay?" Sherlock made little circles with his finger on John's leg. 

"I'll try my best not to," John said. "Just flick my arm or something and I'll learn." He smiled.

"All right, I will," Sherlock said. "Are you going to take care of me right now?"  
  
"Yes. I wanted to come in and take care of you before, but I didn't want to startle you," he said quietly. He kissed Sherlock's cheek, dipping to kiss his neck.

"I didn't do it -- well, not really," Sherlock said. "I like it better when you're there." He rubbed John's belly softly. "Can we go to your room now?"


	5. They Try It Again

"What were you thinking about? What do you want to try?" John asked as he led the way up the stairs.

"Like last night, please," Sherlock said. "I liked it like that. Did you?"

"I did," John nodded. "I wondered if I could do more with my mouth this time?" He pecked Sherlock's lips before lifting Sherlock's shirt over his head.

"Okay then," Sherlock said. "What should I do?" He let John take off his shirt and then started to lift John's jumper over his head.

John let him before gently pushing him back to the bed. "Let's get the rest of this off and you can lay down." John pushed Sherlock's trousers and pants down together, letting him step out of them before kicking them aside.

Sherlock moved onto the bed. "I'm . . . nude," he said stupidly.

John smiled. "Want to help me so we'll be even?"

Sherlock leaned forward and undid John's belt and trousers and tried to push them down.

John shifted to get out of them, dropping them on the ground. "Better?" He smiled, leaning in to kiss him. He lay him back and straddled his hips.

"Lie down next to me first," Sherlock said, pulling on him. "Let's just kiss like this for a minute."

John shifted and lay beside him, kissing him softly. His hand moved slowly up and down Sherlock's back and shoulders.

"I've only ever had sex with you, John Watson," Sherlock said softly. "I like it. I wish I knew how to do it better so I know you like it, too."

"I do like it, Sherlock. I like being with you." John kissed him a bit harder, lacing his fingers into his hair and petting softly.

"Can I sleep in this room, please?"

"You had better," John smiled.

Sherlock tangled his legs with John's and pulled their hips together. "What are we going to do now?"

"My mouth, remember? Let me explore . . ." he said quietly. He got onto Sherlock again, kissing along his neck.

"Get a move on then," Sherlock said.

"Patience, love, I want you to feel good." He continued lower, licking and lightly sucking his nipples before heading down his belly.

"John," Sherlock said, "how did you learn to do all these things?"

"Practice," John murmured, curving to follow his hip down to his inner thigh. "No one starts off knowing everything, Sherlock." He licked a long stripe up Sherlock's cock, sucking just the head at first.

"Will you be wanting me to do these things to you at some point then?" Sherlock said. He reached down and touched the top of John's head. "It's strange, isn't it -- sex stuff? It's just an odd thing. But it feels really, really good."

"I would like that a lot," John said. "When you're ready." And that was the last thing before he started to bob up and down properly. He sucked and hollowed his cheeks, palming and massaging his balls.

Sherlock lifted his upper body off the bed a bit as John's mouth moved on him. "John . . . good," he called out. He looked down at John but then had to close his eyes and lay back again. "It's good -- I mean, good . . . it's . . . god, John." He swallowed. "I've gone stupid, John. You've made me stupid."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, love," he murmured, sucking Sherlock down again. He hummed around him, his hands rubbing his thighs and hips as he moved. 

Sherlock sunk into the bed. It was an unusual feeling -- like nothing he'd ever felt. But it was really so . . . good. He wanted to pick a better word, but his brain couldn't find one. His brain couldn't really find any words at the moment, so he just made a little noise and reached down to touch John's head again. He shifted his legs a little, moving himself with John.

John swirled his tongue around the head, licked along the tip, and then sunk down over and over. He slid a hand between his legs and tugged at his balls again. Then he pulled off and dipped lower, liking and then sucking his balls into his mouth, one at a time. 

"John," Sherlock cried softly, "are you sure you should be doing all this to . . . a beginner? I'm worried I'm not going to survive. It feels too good."

"You're not going to die," John smiled, licking up his shaft again. "I just want you to come." He grinned and sucked him into his mouth again, moving much further down now and swallowing around him. 

"But it's too fast . . ." Sherlock said. "I'll ruin everything."

John pulled off. "You won't ruin everything. Come for me -- we can get you hard again," he smiled. He swallowed Sherlock again, pausing deep now before coming up again.

Sherlock closed his eyes and pictured what was happening in his head. It was so sexy . . . it felt so good. "John," he called and pressed his hips up as he came. He found it hard to breathe for a minute, as if he'd forgotten how to, but then he took a big gasp and flopped on the bed, panting. "John," he said again, gripping John's hair in his hand.

John pulled back a bit to make it easier for both of them, swallowing around him and moaning softly as he watched Sherlock's orgasm flood through him. He looked so beautiful. When John pulled off, he crawled up and kissed his cheek. "You're so gorgeous," he murmured. 

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said, trying to pull John towards him. "Cuddle me, please."

John wrapped around him, curling close. "You really are."

"Shush," Sherlock said. "You're the good one. You know all the sex stuff and I just . . . do nothing except enjoy it." He squeezed John. "Normally, that type of situation would be ideal but I feel bad you make me feel so good and I don't make you feel good."

"You do make me feel good, love. You could help me with this," John said trailing off, rolling his hips lightly so Sherlock could feel his erection. 

Sherlock reached his hand down and held John. "What should I do -- tell me," Sherlock said. "I want to make you feel that good." He pressed his mouth against John's neck.

John moaned softly. "That feels good. Maybe you could use . . . use your mouth?" he murmured. 

"All right," Sherlock said. He slid his body down the bed so he was lined up with John. He started first just . . . investigating, using his tongue to flick licks on it, to take in the taste and smell of sex on it. He put some kisses around and on it. Then he used one hand to tip it up to his lips and sucked softly on the tip.

John shifted to look down at him, his breath catching in his throat. "Sherlock, fuck . . ." he moaned softly.

"Is it okay?" Sherlock said before putting it back into his mouth, sliding his tongue and lips further down the shaft. His hands dropped to John's thighs and gripped them. He moved one of his own legs closer to John's.

"Good . . . so good, Sherlock," John murmured, watching him moving slowly around him. It seemed even sexier that he was exploring and trying, and John couldn't take his eyes off of him

Sherlock moved his mouth to kiss around John's hips. He licked over the bones and then scooted down a little lower. He lifted John's cock with one hand holding it, and licked across his balls and the place where John's legs met his body. These parts of John -- Sherlock had never really thought of them before, but now he was touching them with his hands, his mouth, his breath.

John's breath was shallow and fast now, writhing softly as he tried not to buck up against Sherlock. Everything felt so good. "Sherlock, I'm close . . . please . . ."

Sherlock whispered, "What do I do, John? I don't want to stop." He moved his hand slowly on John's cock as he kept licking and touching John's body.

"I . . . you can do what I did or just use your hand . . . I'm so close," he murmured, reaching down to pet his hair.

Sherlock moved his attention to John's cock, lifting his head to take the tip into his mouth to suck as he stroked the rest with his hand. He watched and listened for cues from John's body.

"Fuck," John breathed. He gripped the bed and Sherlock's hair, moaning loudly. "I'm -- Sherlock!" John came, calling his name as his head fell back against the headboard. When he slumped down, he blinked his eyes open to find Sherlock, petting his hair.

Sherlock pulled back for a second as John came. He'd never seen it happen so close up. He put his mouth over John's cock, letting some get in his mouth and he swallowed and moved his tongue around it gently. Then he moved back up next to John. "Are you okay? Was it okay?" he asked.

John leaned over and kissed his cheek hard, dropping his forehead onto Sherlock's shoulder as he caught his breath. "You . . .were perfect." He looked up again and smiled softly. "We can still do it like last night, just . . . just give me a minute. How do you feel?"

"Like I have an erection again," Sherlock said. He squeezed John, pressing his hips against him. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," John smiled, leaning up closer. "Help me catch up." He kissed Sherlock tugging him onto his lap as he sat against the headboard.

"I like doing things with you," Sherlock said softly. He cuddled into John.

"I like doing things with you, too." John rubbed his back with both hands for a bit. "Do you want to do more right now?"

"No, let's just stay doing this," Sherlock said. "I like this as well."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock properly, kissing his shoulder. "I like doing this as well. Maybe tomorrow for dinner we can go on a proper date?"

"All right," Sherlock said. "Whatever you want, John. I want you to be happy."

"I want you to be happy too, Sherlock. Does a date sound good to you?"

"I suppose I don't know -- I've never been on a date, I guess," Sherlock said. "I'll try."

John chuckled softly as he kissed his cheek. "We go on dates all the time. Now it'll just be official."

"So we've been going on dates since we met? Why haven't you ever given me flowers or a present? I thought those things were supposed to happen on dates?" Sherlock said, looking over and smiling.

"Okay, Mr Smarty Pants. I meant dates are just . . . us hanging out. Dinners or things like that. Nothing to worry about."

"Well, how come you used to get so worked up about dates with women then, if it's just hanging out like we do all the time? You never got nervous about our 'dates', did you?"

"No, but I'm comfortable with you. I never thought of it . . . like that. I'm sorry, I know that sounds bad. I like spending time with you."

"So how will it be different now?"

"Now . . . well, it's not going to look any different, but it'll feel different. We'll know that it means more," John smiled softly, hoping he was making sense.

"So . . . I'm not getting flowers is what you're saying?" Sherlock asked, pinching John's arm softly.

John grinned and swatted his arm. "Is that what you want? I'll get you a hundred flowers!"

"It's too late -- flowers are meant to seduce and you clearly already got me," Sherlock said. "Can we do it now?"

"The flowers or sex?" John grinned.

"The sex," Sherlock said. He lifted his hands up into a prayer sign. "Please?"

John grinned. "Yes, We can do it now," he laughed. He closed the space between them and kissed Sherlock, a bit sloppy as he was still smiling. He gripped Sherlock's back and shifted him to be laying down, John already settled between his legs.  

"Are you going to do it the same as last night? Do you like that way best?"

"Do you mean a different position or a complete switch in roles?" John murmured, kissing along his neck again. "I've never done the other way..."

"I guess I mean different positions," Sherlock said. "Should we try something different?"

"Do you want to get on top of me? To ride me?" John asked, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Um . . . okay, I'll try," Sherlock said. "Show me what to do."

John moved to sit up against the headboard again, tugging Sherlock into his lap. "I'm going to open you up again and . . . and you're going to move over me, okay?" He reached into the drawer for the lube and another condom, looking up at him. "Do you want to do that?"

"All right, I got it. Do you mean fingers now?" Sherlock said, crawling over him. "Are you sure this will work?" He smiled down at him.

John nodded. "If you get tired, just let me know and we'll switch." He leaned up and kissed him, putting lube on his fingers and slowly pushing one in. "Okay?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Then he opened his eyes and looked down at John. "It feels different this way, but it's still good." He moved his body down a little, realising he could control the movement in a different way this time. "It's good . . . yes, definitely."

"You can move however you like -- however fast or hard you feel like," John murmured. He pumped his finger until it moved easily, adding a second one slowly. He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's, still hardly able to believe this was happening. 

"I want to do it now. I'm ready . . . am I ready?" Sherlock said impatiently.

John nodded. "You know your body," he said. He pulled his fingers away and held his cock to keep it angled for Sherlock. "Slowly at first -- really feel it," he murmured. 

Sherlock lowered himself slowly onto John. "It's different . . ." Sherlock said quietly. "Does it feel different to you?"

John nodded. "Feels like I'm deeper," he sighed, resting his forehead on Sherlock's chest. He gripped his hips tightly, panting softly.

"I'm going to move more now," Sherlock said, starting to move against John. Then he dropped down against John's chest and moved that way. "That feels good, John," Sherlock said. He pressed his mouth against John's neck, starting to pant lightly.

"Fuck . . . it's f-fantastic," John breathed, trying to roll his hips up to match his thrusts. He moved to look up, kissing Sherlock hard with a loud moan. 

"I like that we're doing this," Sherlock said. "I like that we can do it whenever we want and it's just me and you." He kissed John's mouth and smiled.

"Me too . . .God, Sherlock, I'm . . . I'm close already," John said, taking slow deep breaths to calm down. He wanted to hold out, to make this good for Sherlock. 

"Say something lovely to me," Sherlock said. He reached up and grabbed John's hair.

"Ah -- I love you," he moaned softly. "I love you so much." His fingers were pressing into Sherlock's hips too hard, but he couldn't help it. 

"I love you, John," Sherlock said. He reached down to start stroking himself. "John, you make me feel . . . everything." He pressed his mouth against John's skin again.

"You make me . . . fuck . . .drive me crazy," John mumbled, bringing his own hand up to meet Sherlock's, to help him stroke. 

"John, I'm going to come again," Sherlock panted. "It's just when you touch me. . . " This time he was quieter, spilling over their hands onto John's belly. "God, John, you do it now. Please."

John felt him squeezing around him, and he lifted his hips to keep pushing into him. When he came he pressed his face to Sherlock's chest, murmuring his name against his skin until the waves passed. He looked up at Sherlock, smiling softly.

"That made me feel different this time," Sherlock said against John.

"Better?" John asked, pecking his lips.

"Different," Sherlock said. "I feel like I just want to stay lying here like this with you forever."

"Do you feel better knowing that's perfectly normal?" John asked quietly. He shifted to lay down, keeping Sherlock on top of him.

"I want to buy you presents for you," Sherlock said. "Is that worrying?"

"No," John chuckled. "It's sweet. I'll get you those one hundred flowers."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'll buy you one hundred . . . pencils."

"Pencils? How romantic -- they will go perfectly with the hundred notebooks I'm about to get you," John smiled. 

"Shush, I don't know what I'm talking about," Sherlock said. "I just did sex three times in the last twenty four hours. I'm supposed to be going to sleep and you're supposed to be babying me since you're the one who did it to me."

"I'm already cuddling you and petting you," John said, starting to pet his hair as if he'd been doing it all along. "Stop talking so much and go to sleep." John settled comfortably and closed his eyes. 

"Your nagging is only tolerable because of the shagging," Sherlock said. He snuggled down against him and gave him a kiss before closing his own eyes.

Sleep came almost immediately for both of them.


End file.
